Among 1660 and 1820, nice Britain skilled major structural alterations at school, politics, economic system, print, and writing that produced new and sundry areas and with them, new and reconfigured suggestions of gender. In mapping the connection among gender and area in British literature of the interval, this assortment defines, charts, and explores new cartographies, either geographic and figurative.

For part a century Lydia Maria baby used to be a loved ones identify within the usa. infrequently a sphere of nineteenth-century lifestyles are available during which Lydia Maria baby didn't determine prominently as a pathbreaker. even if top identified this day for having edited Harriet A. Jacobs’s Incidents within the lifetime of a Slave woman, she pioneered virtually each division of nineteenth-century American letters—the ancient novel, the quick tale, children’s literature, the family suggestion publication, women’s heritage, antislavery fiction, journalism, and the literature of getting older.

Back home, I set out to find him a first and perfect birthday gift, and found him as the father I barely knew each birthday card too personal and sly about the paradox of years, each gift perhaps too effeminate, like the blue lap blanket I gave him last Christmas. He exchanged it for a green hunting shirt. None of us wants to be taken for what's left in the mirror. Page 23 Then I spotted the khaki cap in the store window on Main, and I could almost glimpse the two of us under the same hat, my mother saying again, you're his spit, that's how much you look like him.

Page 49 Crivelli's Pietà Angel In life it was just another spring plunging with trees and noon-dark weather. Things went on from there, betrayal aside. But this angel's sopped eyes are beyond consolation, stopped with a brokenness the living feel about the dead. And Crivelli must have known it, with each gray, each plum daub to the sockets. Somewhere this angel must have a furious double, red eyes rolling from so much wandering and confusion in the desert before they settled into a sadness like winter all there is.

At night, the wind suggests it, curling shingles, billowing screens, changing direction in the bent trees. One moment, life was thick as sighs on a night dizzy with mosquitoes. Then, ivy darkened an empty room. They said the phone rang for days. <><><><><><><><><><><><> Now, rain sheets before the mountains and I want to route maps home, over islands, the waters in between. . You recall Page 44 how the trail ended, how abruptly. I keep holding the shrubs away over the last footprint as clouds and sunlight scope the valley, search for something gone.